These Broken Dreams
by your candy perfume girl
Summary: From the shattered pieces of their greatest dreams, they find that perhaps they can build an even grander dream together. Multichapter. Luis/Fancy.
1. July

**Author's Note -** My apologies if there are any grammatical mistakes - I wanted to get this story up before I go out of town tomorrow. I'll be gone all week, and it's my understanding that some major things happen this week that will make this story incredibly AU.

Also - if you've never heard Madonna's "Drowned World / Substitute For Love", you'd really ought to. It's amazing, and the video kind of flows with parts of part three.

* * *

This is that picture-perfect moment she's been waiting for these past two months: Luis, sitting beside her on the jet, looking down in awe, in disbelief, at his child, sleeping soundly in his arms. He smoothes the boy's hair with one hand, the other clutching him tightly around his waist, as if, should he let go, Marty will disappear, lost to him once more. 

She's never before had a hand in anything so significant - her life had always been about meaningless, trivial things, like clothes and make-up and parties. But this, this is her cousin, on his way home to the mother who's longed for him nearly three years now. This is huge. This is something to be proud of.

Still, she watches her family jet's progress on the digital map, spies the space between them on the seat, seemingly growing larger with each passing second, and she can't help but feel that something is slipping between her fingers.

* * *

He knocks firmly with his free hand, urgently. From behind the thick blue door footsteps can be heard, dashing across the living room. The door swings open, and it's Chris; the muscles in his face rapidly move from pleasant curiosity to surprised disbelief, and a soft, "Oh my God," escapes his lips as he steps to the side to allow them in. 

Her aunt Sheridan steps out from her bedroom, round stomach protruding forward, fumbling with an earring, and freezes; the piece of jewelry falls from her hand, and her mouth freezes, stopping before she has a chance to form her sentence. She stares at the three of them for a few moments, then finally whispers, "Marty?"

Luis smiles broadly at her, eyes shining so bright with such joy. "Yes, Sheridan," he says, softly. "It's him. It's Marty. We found him."

The earring falls from her hand to the rug, where it blends in with the fibers, forgotten. "Marty!" she cries, taking the boy into her arms. There are tears spilling down her cheeks, dragging her mascara with them; she does not bother with them, instead focusing on her child. "Oh, Luis, our beautiful boy! You've found him! You've found our son! Marty!" She bounces him on her hip, kissing his cheeks. "It's me, Marty!" she whispers, smiling. "It's mama. Oh, Luis..."

Her head is swimming, and Fancy takes a step back to steady herself. This was the ultimate goal, what she's been striving for these past two months, but, like on the plane, there is no joy, no sense of accomplishment; something inside of her is dying, slowly and painfully. She doesn't belong here. She's intruding.

Slowly, slowly, she backs out the door, and once clear, runs as fast as she can to no where in particular.

* * *

She lies on her cappuccino-colored comforter, staring up past her blank ceiling to the recesses of nothingness. In the background, one of Madonna's gentle tunes lofts through the air, filling her ears without fully permeating her brain. 

She's done what she'd set out to do – she's helped Luis to bring Marty back to her aunt Sheridan. She'd set a goal for herself, and, for once, she's reached it. She's done very well.

All that she can see now, though, is a future of emptiness. What now? Back to the shallow world of fame and fortune, her substitute for love?

Helping Luis find Marty was just another substitute for love, she tells herself. Just a way to forget about Noah, and the void left in her life by his betrayal. But now Luis has stopped, his tale at its resolution, and she cannot - should not - wait for him any longer. She'll move on, to far-off places and handsome strangers and tall, tall Ferris wheels, like she's always done in the past. Now will be no different, should be no different.

There's someone at her door. She doesn't hear him, or her, but she senses a presence there. It's 2:21 in the morning; she'd left Sheridan's cottage seven hours earlier.

It could be. It's likely only a maid, one who'd busied herself with using Fancy's room during her absence, one who is now unaware of her employer's return. But it could be.

Quietly, she tiptoes to the door and gently eases it open. "Luis?"

His forehead rests against the hallway wall, and she can see, between strands of hair, that his eyes are red and swollen. His chest heaves in a strange way, as if he's been punched in the gut, and a lengthy duration of silence passes before he chokes out the three tiny syllables: "You were right."

"What are you talking about, Luis?" she asks, worry and concern furrowing her brow. She rests her hand on his shoulder and shakes it, slightly, in an attempt to force him to meet her eyes. "What was I right about?"

He sucks in several gulps of air, lungs making a sickly rasping sound, before finally detailing his earlier claims. "You told me, when we were in Rome... you told me that she'd just say 'thanks for the kid', and slam the door in my face. You were right."

She gasps, audibly. "She's staying with Chris?"

He nods, covering his face with his hands and pushing his bangs out of his face. "For a year, I've searched for him... I was tortured, locked up, but in the end, I thought it would all work out. I thought I'd find Marty, and he and Sheridan and I would finally be the family we'd always dreamed of being, but now... now they're going to be a family with Chris, and James, and the new baby, and I just..."

He stops and rubs his eyes furiously. "God, I must look pathetic."

"No," she answers, shaking her head. She slides her arms around his chest and holds him close. "You look like someone who's just had his dreams shattered."

He's quiet for a few moments, reveling in the warmth and security of her embrace. "I don't mean to dump all of this on you, Fancy; I know you've been having your own problems with love, I just... I didn't know where else to go, and I _can't_ go home, not without them..."

"Hey!" she protests. "We're the walking wounded, you and I. We have to stick together."

She steps back through the doorway and ushers him in. "You can wait here, and I'll have a maid make up one of the guest rooms for you."

"No!" he cries, grabbing her arm as she's turning away. "I... I don't want anyone to know I'm here. They'll try to talk to me, about what happened, and I'm just... I'm not ready for that."

She nods. "I understand." Pausing to consider the options, she offers, "Why don't you stay in here for the night? I have another room I can stay in."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fancy," he says, voice flat, all energy for emotion spent. "I don't want you to have to give up your room for me. And," he adds, voice barely a whisper, "I don't think I should be alone tonight."

She can see the desolation in his eyes, the great and overwhelming pain and agony, and she can't help but see the logic in his request. "Okay," she agrees. "My bed is large enough so that you won't kick me with those giant feet of yours." She grins at him; he attempts a feeble smile in return and, when he's turned his back to climb into bed, she frowns. Her aunt's really done a number on him.

As she slides under the covers beside him, she can't help but notice his bare chest, so toned and well defined. _You're terrible,_ she mentally chastises herself. _He's just had his heart broken, and you're checking him out._

She sneaks a peek back at him, only to discover that he's now lying on his side, facing her window. She lies flat on her back, still, for several moments, until she feels the bed shaking, just slightly, hardly noticeable. A glance back at Luis reveals that he is the culprit, and she soon realizes that he is staring out the window not at the gorgeous, moonlight-draped lawn, but at Sheridan's cottage.

"Luis?" she whispers, resting her hand on his shoulder. He's trying to hold it all in, she senses, and he's going to explode, sooner or later, if he insists on such an ill-advised course. Embracing him from behind, she rests her chin on his shoulder. "It's okay. Just let it all out. It doesn't make you any less of a man. You've been through more than the average person could ever dream of going through without shedding a tear. Just let it all out. You'll feel better afterwards."

His body trembles, intensity graduating until a sob unleashes itself from somewhere deep in his throat. "Oh, God," he moans, grasping her hand as if it's all that's keeping him from tumbling from some tall, rocky precipice into a deep, dark abyss where death is surely unavoidable.

Like a mother with her child, she pulls his head to her chest and lets him cry in her arms. Stroking his hair, she murmurs, "That's it, Luis. Let it all out. Just let go."

She doesn't know how long he sobs, but she does know that he's still in her arms when she wakes the next morning.

* * *

"Hey." She sets the tray down on her bench beside him with an air of satisfaction. "I brought you lunch. I hope you like PB&J - it's all that I know how to make." 

He kind of prods the unevenly cut sandwich, peanut butter and jelly sloppily spilling from the sides, and instead opts to pluck a grape from its stem. "Thanks," he mumbles.

"You're welcome." She lets the silence fill the air between them for a few seconds before deciding to screw it and just plunge on in. "I saw your mother again," she says, inspecting a crack in one of her nails. "She's really worried about you, Luis."

He picks up a cracker and scrapes off the stray clump of jelly before replying. "I know. She tried to call my cell phone again." He sighs. "I just... I'm not ready to deal with all of that quite yet. The questions, the never-ending sympathy... I just can't deal with it right now."

She nods. "I understand, Luis, believe me, but... it's been four days, and your mother's so worried about you. If you'd just call her - "

"I told you," he barks, breaking her off mid-sentence, "I can't! She'll be full of 'it's for the best's and sad eyes and Theresa will have a list of schemes for me to try and I just can't _cope_ right now, Fancy! Jesus Christ!"

"Okay!" she cries, biting her lower lip and lowering her eyes to her lap.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Fancy, I didn't mean to snap. You've been so nice to me, hiding me away in your special room like this."

"Don't worry about it," she smiles, laughs slightly. "Truth be told, I've felt weird about this room ever since ever since everything that happened with my grandfather. I can't believe I was so blind, that I couldn't see how evil he really was. And now he's dead, and it's just... eerie, being in here."

He shakes his head. "Alistair Crane fooled billions of people worldwide for years. You were his granddaughter; he doted on you. God knows I can be pretty blind to Theresa's faults."

She smiles. "You're the only person I've ever met with an attitude like that. No one else could accept that I loved him - not my parents, my brothers... not even Noah."

"Well, that goes both ways, you know. You're the only person who really seems to understand what I'm going through, what I need. Judging by the sheer volume of calls I've gotten, my family _definitely_ doesn't." Fiddling with his phone, flipping it around in his hands, he sighs, "I've gotten fourteen calls from Mama, two from Miguel, five from Paloma, and eight from Theresa." Chuckling, he adds, "I'm surprised Theresa doesn't have Crane security out looking for me right now... what's wrong, Fancy?"

Horror filling her voice, she replies, "Oh, Luis, I forgot to tell you... I'm so sorry. My grandfather changed his will before he died. He cut Theresa out of the will and reversed his adoption of Little Ethan."

He's silent for a moment, as if digesting this new information, before finally replying, "Good." Off her puzzled look, he adds, "She said she wanted to make Crane a force for good in the world, but it was more than that. She loved the power, and she loved abusing it to get what she wanted. She's the last person who should be in charge of something as large as the Crane Empire." They're both silent for a few moments before he pipes in, "So, I guess your father doesn't care much about finding me?"

Her father? Then it hits her. "Grandfather didn't leave my father in charge: he made me his sole heiress." She laughs darkly. "I guess he didn't have time to have his will changed after I 'betrayed' him." Shaking her head, she adds, "But I'm in charge of everything now. I'll be ceding day-to-day control to Father, of course; I don't even know the first thing about running a business. But I'll still have the power of veto in all matters, so you can remain here, safe and sound, for as long as you'd like." With a grin, she jokes, "I could probably find you a less pink room, if you'd like."

He chortles. "I could do without the pink," he admits, "but I kind of like it in here. Maybe it's just the fairytale feel to it, but I feel safe here."

She nods. "I used to feel that way, too." Glancing at her watch, she exclaims, "Oh, damn, I'm supposed to meet with the lawyers about the power turnover in fifteen minutes!" Embracing him, she questions, "You'll be okay, right?"

"I _am_ a grown man, Fancy. I'm capable of taking care of myself."

She frowns. "That's not what I meant."

"I know. Now go! You don't want to be late!"

With one last apprehensive look, she acquiesces. "Okay. I'll be back in an hour or two. You can call me if you need anything." She leans in to kiss his cheek, and she can't help but notice how soft and warm his skin feels.

They're so wrong, these things she feels for him at the most inopportune moments, but something about it all just feels so _right_.

* * *

"You're sure you're ready?" 

He stares out the window at his mother's house, a dull pain emanating from his eyes; he clearly hadn't expected to ever return to this house as an occupant. "It's been six days," he answers, flexing his fingers. "It's time."

She nods, then leans in. "If you need _anything_, Luis, please, just pick up the damn phone. I don't care what time it is... I'm here for you."

There are tears in his eyes as he looks back at her. "Fancy... I can't thank you enough, for everything. For being there for me, for giving me what I needed, no questions asked. I just... there's no way that words can express how grateful I am to you."

"Hey," she whispers, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "You were there for me in Rome when I was upset about Noah, when my crazy half-aunt Beth was trying to kill me... I haven't even begun to repay you for what you did for me."

He wraps his arms around her, and she closes her eyes and fights to banish those terribly wrong and improper thoughts from her mind. But his body feels so warm, and her mind can't help but start to wander...

... until he pulls away with a smile and a 'thank you'. She watches as he climbs out of her car and crosses through the dark, warm night to his home, and her body tingles all over. He rests his hand on the doorknob for a few moments before finally turning it and crossing the threshold into the lit interior.

He closes the door behind him, and, once he's out of sight, a terrible, lonely aching fills her chest.

* * *

"Hey, Fancy. It's me, Luis." 

A sudden burst of warmth spreads throughout her body at the sound of his voice. "Hi, Luis!" she greets. "What's up?"

There's a commotion in the background, and she hears Luis yelling something in Spanish. "Sorry," he apologizes, coming back onto the phone. "Marty was jumping on the couch."

"Marty's with you?" she asks, pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah," Luis answers. "I spoke with Sheridan, and she agreed to allow me to have him on the weekends. I'll probably challenge that later, but this arrangement is good for the moment. Anyway," he says, changing the course of the conversation, "I'm taking Marty to the park for a picnic this afternoon, and I wanted to know if you'd accompany us, as a 'thank you' for all that you've done for us."

She smiles. "A picnic sounds lovely, Luis."

She swears she can hear the muscles in his mouth forming a giant grin. "Great," he enthuses. "I'll see you at noon."

"Oh, fuck," she curses to herself after she's hung up the phone, looking down at at her pink pajamas. "I need to find something to wear!"

* * *

"Fancy!" 

She smiles as she spots Luis, Marty in his lap, sitting atop a red and white checked cloth, a wooden picnic basket set out in front of them. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting," she says, smoothing her white capris as she sits down beside them.

He shakes his head. "No, no, we just got here a few minutes ago." Looking down at Marty with a sort of joking glare in his eyes, he apologizes, "I'd help you sit down, but _someone_ doesn't want to get up." Marty just giggles and continues to roll his toy racecar around on the blanket. "Marty," Luis questions, "you remember your cousin Fancy, right? She helped Daddy bring you home. Do you want to say 'hi'?"

Marty looks up at her and smiles one of those purely innocent smiles that only children are truly capable of producing and waves his little hand at her. "Hi!" he exclaims, and she can't help but grin at the boy.

"Hey there!" she says, voice taking on a singsong quality. "Are you having fun spending the weekend with your daddy?"

Marty nods happily, then looks up at his father. "Are you?" Luis questions playfully, tickling the child's armpits. Marty shrieks with laughter, and Fancy joins in, tickling his tiny, bare feet.

It could just be the warm breeze, or the smell of Luis's enchiladas wafting from the basket, but, at this moment, Fancy can't seem to recall any other time when she'd felt quite as happy, as warm, as this.

* * *

A smile spreads across her face as she watches Luis lift little Marty high, high into the air before tossing him forward. Her cousin screams with glee as he sails through the hot air of late July and lands in the pool with a splash, water flying everywhere. "Again, Daddy!" he cries, using his little legs to propel him through the water and back to his father. 

"Uh-uh," Luis says, turning his attention to Fancy, still standing at the side of the pool, clad in her sparkly pink bikini. "It's time for Fancy to come in."

She dips her foot in the water and then yanks it out, shaking the water off. "It's freezing, Luis! The thermostat must be broken."

He wades over to the side of the pool and motions for her to crouch down and meet him at eye level. She does so, then instantly realizes what he's planning; before she can back away, however, he's grabbed her hand and pulled her below the icy surface.

The water is freezing, making her yearn for any movement that might bring her sweet warmth, but her desire for payback wins out - she closes her eyes and tries her best to remain still. Her effort pays off; within two seconds, a strong pair of hands is pulling her up, up, up, to precious air.

"Fancy?" Luis cries, dragging her onto the sidewalk. "Oh, God, Fancy, please wake up..."

She opens her eyes, and before he has time to react, she spits a mouthful of water into his face. She laughs as he furiously rubs his eyes. "That wasn't funny!" he exclaims, lunging after her.

She jumps back into the water, away from his grasping hands. "Catch me if you can!" she cries, diving beneath the surface once more. The water is cold, raising goose bumps all over her body, but where his hands were, on her hips, remains hot to the touch.

* * *

It's nine o'clock, and Marty sleeps on her lap, curled up with his favorite blanket. She rests her head against Luis's shoulder as they watch the end of _Aladdin_ on his mother's TV. The house is empty, save for them: the women have gone out for a ladies' night, and Little Ethan is at the mansion, with their father. It's nice, the quiet. It's nice to just be able to rest like this, together. 

"I love you." The words flow from his lips so softly, so fluidly, that at first she doesn't realize that he's said them. Once her brain finally comprehends what he's said, a shock travels through her body, and she bolts upright.

"What?" she asks, turning her head to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"I love you," he says, slightly surprised by his own admission, and turns toward her. "We've been spending so much time together these past few weeks, and we were just sitting here, and it just hit me. I love you, Fancy."

"No," she whispers, placing Marty on the couch beside her. She needs some fresh air; it's so warm, and she can't breathe. "You don't love me," she whispers. "You can't."

"Why?" he asks, standing, confusion seeping from his tone. "What's wrong?"

It's so hot. She can't breathe. "You can't love me. I'm spoiled and shallow and selfish and you just _can't_ love me, Luis. You _can't_."

"Fancy," he whispers, stepping closer to her. He's so hot, and she's suffocating. "I don't understand..." he reaches out for her, but she pushes him away and makes a break for the door.

"Please," she begs, back against the door, "just forget that tonight ever happened, okay? Just forget about your little epiphany."

"Fancy, I don't..."

"God, I can't _breathe_," she cries. She flings open the door and rushes outside into the cool night. She runs, even though her purse is inside and her car is in the driveway. She runs and runs until she meets the ocean and can run no further.


	2. August

**Author's Note** — So, my attempt at writing a multi-chapter story? Fail. Massive, massive fail. I'm a one-shot kind of girl; anything longer and I lose interest. That's what happened with "These Broken Dreams", unfortunately. Any outline or plan that I wrote for this story is long gone, and I honestly don't even remember how I'd intended to end it. However, I did find the beginning of the second chapter on my computer, and I felt like it provided at least a semblance of an ending. Perhaps one day I'll be inspired to finish this story, but, for now, this scene is the end. :(

* * *

He's very quiet. She can't hear him; rather, she senses him, senses the tentative steps he takes toward her, his great care not to send clumps of sand flying through the air at her with his large feet. It's eerie, how she knows these things.

"I'm not going to run away," she calls out into the cool morning air, filled with miniscule drops of sea. Behind her, he drops his silent charade, sighing softly. He continues to trudge toward her, and drops to the sand beside her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asks, gazing out to the glittering blue waters, the golden sun rising high above the whitecaps breaking far off the coast. "It's... peaceful. It's truth. You can tell yourself, when you're safe inland, caged in by the tall, tall trees and buildings, that you're big, powerful, in control. But here," she whispers, staring far away at the dark line where ocean and sky meet, "you know exactly where you stand. You know that you're small, insignificant."

He shakes his head, eyes fixed on her profile. "Is that why you ran? Because I made you feel insignificant, somehow?"

She laughs, only the noise is low, like a bark, rather than the light, airy sound that he's grown to love. Leaving him where he sits, she moves to the edge of the ocean, where she allows the cold water to rush around her ankles. "You don't understand," she whispers, focusing her gaze on her feet, sinking further and further into the sand.

Suddenly he's by her side, taking her arm into his hand. "Then help me understand." He sighs. "Do you not love me? Is that it?"

She turns to face him, disbelief shining bright from pale blue eyes. "Not love you? Luis, I've been falling in love with you since you carried me out of the catacombs. I've wanted to hear you say that you love me for so long... but you don't. You think you do, but Luis, look at me." There are tears blossoming in her eyes, threatening to cascade down her cheeks; he moves to wipe them away, but she pushes him back. "I'm blonde, blue-eyed, and tall. My last name is Crane, and people used to mistake me for Sheridan's sister all the time when we were younger. I remind you of her. I'm just a rebound fling, and I'm spoiled and shallow and selfish and nothing like Sheridan at all, really..."

She's silenced by his hands gripping her arms, forcing her to look up at him, meet his eyes. "Only when I'm with you," he begins, "am I able to forget about Sheridan, and what happened between us. For five years, I've been so miserable, longing for her, for Marty... you make me happier than I've ever felt, Fancy." He strokes her cheek, and she starts to cry; she's melting before him, slowly.

"We haven't even been home a month, Luis," she protests. "You can't just end a relationship and three weeks later decide that you're in love with someone else."

"We were together for two months in Rome," he reminds her. "You were there for me when I was feeling down about Sheridan, about Marty, in ways that no one else has ever been there for me, and... and I guess it just took that final "the end" with Sheridan to make me see what was right in front of me." He cups her face with his hands, wipes the tears from her eyes, and whispers, "You loved me enough to get me through the darkest time in my life, and you loved me enough to help me keep going afterwards. You fell in love with me when I saved you, and I fell in love with you when you saved me."

They're both crying now, salty tears plummeting into the swirling ocean waters, and she knows that she's falling, fast. "I can't take another broken heart, Luis," she whispers, pulling her feet from beneath the pounds of sand burying them. "Not so soon."

He nods, pushing a golden strand of hair behind her ear. "Breaking your heart is the last thing I want," he assures. "But we can take it slow, make sure we don't rush into anything."

She gulps. This is it. "If you break my heart, you know I'll send my brothers after you."

He laughs, wiping his eyes. "Understood."

And she lets him hold her.


End file.
